“That’s not?—”
“He’s not an accessory,” I cut in. “He’s not a headline or a paycheck or a status symbol. He’s a man who has worked his entire life for this moment, and I’m proud of him. Not because of what he might earn, but because of who he is.”
My voice shook, but I didn’t stop.
“And if you can’t respect that—if you can’t respecthim—then you don’t get access to any part of this. Not him. Not me.”
The silence on the other end sounded stunned.
“I have to go.” I hung up before she could respond.
My hands were shaking when I lowered the phone.
That was when I realized something terrifying.
Everything I’d just said—I meant it.
Not as a story. Not as spin. Not as part of the arrangement.
As truth.
Ledger stood a few feet away, wet hair curling at the nape of his neck, his expression unreadable.
My stomach dropped.
“You heard that,” I said quietly.
“Enough of it,” he replied.
The hallway suddenly felt too narrow, the noise from the pool distant and muffled. Every instinct screamed at me to minimize. To laugh it off. To explain it away as damage control, as spin, as something I’d said because it sounded good in the moment.
Except that fear was also tangled with relief, because although I hadn’t meant for him to hear, there was a small traitorous part of me that was glad he had.
We stood there for a long moment, neither of us moving.
“What you said,” he began slowly. “Was that … true?”
My heart slammed against my ribs.
I opened my mouth, then closed it again. I had a dozen ways to soften it, to retreat, to pretend it had all been for show.
But I didn’t use any of them.
The truth was complicated. And terrifying. And saying it out loud meant I couldn’t pretend anymore.
“I …” I started, then stopped. My fingers curled into the fabric of my jacket like I could anchor myself there. “I was angry,” I said instead. “She pushes my buttons. She always has.”
His gaze didn’t waver.
“That doesn’t answer the question,” he said gently.
Of course it didn’t.
I exhaled, staring at the floor. Buying time. Building walls. Doing the thing I always did when something mattered too much.
What if I said yes and he pulled back?
What if I admitted this and it changed nothing? Or worse, what if it changed everything?
